


The Angel Also Rises

by My_Good_Omens_Hackverse



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale and Crowley watch the sun rise, Aziraphale makes a bet with Crowley, Crowley’s town, God/Lucifer backstory, M/M, angel anatomy, silly fluff, things get a little stupid and weird
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:27:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26674366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Good_Omens_Hackverse/pseuds/My_Good_Omens_Hackverse
Summary: Aziraphale bets he knows more about God than Crowley. The loser of the bet is very em-bare-assed (sorry) and thinks everything is blown WAY out of proportion.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 6





	The Angel Also Rises

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a song by Deodato called “Also Sprach Zarathustra” because of the weirdly enthusiastic crescendos and by a series of Peanuts cartoons called “It's An Adventure, Charlie Brown”. (C. Schulz must have been acid when he wrote it, there’s no way he wasn’t.) The OC was written with a specific actor in mind, but it’s none of my business who appears in your head, so I’ll keep his name to myself.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Aziraphale’s cottage,  Tadfield, present day

“Isn’t betting a sin, or something?” asked Adam. He  and Dog  followed Aziraphale out of the kitchen door  and  into the garden. Aziraphale carried a sweating pitcher of lemonade, and Adam sweated underneath a large tray of sandwiches and ice filled glasses.  
  


“Oh. Well,” said Aziraphale,  a little abashed at being schooled on sin by the Antichrist,  “there’s nothing wrong with a little friendly wager now and then. Help yourselves,  gentlemen.” He  and Adam set lunch down on the table. Crowley poured himself a lemonade, while Sera, the tall, dark haired angel, sat  still and  silent.

“What’s the winner get?” asked Adam,  reaching for a sandwich and  checking its contents.   


Crowley snorted. Aziraphale  smiled nervously. “They’re ham and cheese, dear. The terms of the bet are not important. ”

Adam raised an eyebrow. He’d just learned how and it was his new favorite thing. The best part was it seemed to make people a little less sure of themselves whenever he did it. People except for Crowley, of course, who was almost never self conscious and whose raised eyebrows were informally recognized in certain circles as actual miracles.

Crowley slouched in a chair, one arm thrown over the back of it. He swirled the lemonade in his glass, encouraging his ice cubes (bourbon cubes, actually and miraculously) to melt faster. “No, no, no, the stakes are always important,” he said, “how else do you get people to do what you want?” 

Aziraphale cleared his throat.  “You know,”  he  said, “perhaps Adam is right. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea.”

Crowley looked shocked.  “A little early for regrets, isn’t it angel? And who knows,”  he  said, “you might even win. Miracles do happen.”  Only  Aziraphale could see the wink behind Crowley’s dark sunglasses  but everyone saw his predatory grin.  Aziraphale  sighed, trying to seem exasperated, but there was a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead, which highlighted his discomfort . “Now,” Crowley  sniffed, turning to Sera, “if his holiness would be so kind, he is the only one who can settle this bet. ”

Sera (short for Seraph) was not on Earth by choice – he had fallen. Whether his final destination was Earth or Hell or Somewhere Else, perhaps only God knew, but here he was, still slightly shaken by the ordeal. He spent most of his time looking at everything as if it were inside out and speaking to him using words he couldn’t understand, but which he suspected were obscene. To be fair, spending the first part of eternity shouting about how holy God is can warp anyone; Aziraphale tried his angel best to be patient with Sera. Crowley just tried to avoid him. 

Sera sat, straight-backed, staring at a spot on the ground as if it were the world’s most complicated puzzle. Crowley knew Sera could sit motionless for days – he had seen it happen. Crowley squinted. “Do you ever blink, Sera?”

Sera’s frown deepened exactly one shade from questioning to imperious and his eyes slid over to Crowley. Without blinking, obviously. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale glared at Crowley, his impatience real this time. “Perhaps we should finish lunch first? We can discuss the bet later.”

“Alright, alright,”  Adam sighed , “I  can take a hint. Seeing as me and Dog are the only ones eating anyway.” He downed the rest of his lemonade and helped himself to another sandwich. “Dog and I have important business elsewhere, don’t we, boy?” Dog looked up reverently at Adam as he trotted after him. “Thanks, Mr. Fell,” he  waved at Aziraphale and made a face and raised an eyebrow at Crowley on his way out. “Bye, Sera,” he called over his shoulder.

‘It’s a very good thing he’s not more like his fathers,’  Crowley thought. 

“Sera,” said Aziraphale, as soon as Adam and Dog were gone, “Crowley says that Lucifer was banished to Hell after he and God had a lovers’ quarrel. He says that the Fall was a… divorce, of sorts.” Aziraphale chuckled, “Have you ever heard anything so preposterous?”

Sera considered Aziraphale’s question carefully. “It is not preposterous. Crowley is correct,” he said. “Every angel knows why Lucifer was banished. God wants us to pretend we don’t know. I’ve never understood why. It is a taxing pretense to maintain.”

Crowley quickly sat up and leaned forward. “Why, Sera, what were God and Lucifer fighting about? It must have been terribly holy! Some finer point of the Ineffable Plan, perhaps?”

“God and Lucifer were…?”  Aziraphale was so  stunned, he forgot to insist on respecting the divine privacy. He also missed  Crowley’s complete lack of  sincerity.

So did Sera,  and he answered  Crowley’s question without hesitation. “It started when God accused Lucifer of having a smaller than average penis …”

Aziraphale sat bolt upright, his eyebrows buried in his hairline. Crowley smirked viciously. “I’m sure we don’t need the details,” said Aziraphale quickly, to anyone who would listen, which was exactly no one.

“ … and Lucifer put his halo around it to demonstrate that it was of adequate size,” continued Sera, straight-faced.

“Sera!”

“But then he  claimed he  couldn’t get it off, and  so  chose to walk around with it that way for quite some time...”

“SERA!” said Aziraphale, who had turned quite a deep shade of pink, “I really must insist that you stop.”

Crowley stroked his chin and snickered as he watched a cloud in the shape of a penis  execute a perfect barrel role as it  floated by. 

“I am surprised you do not know this , Principality,” said Sera to Aziraphale. He turned to Crowley. “I am not surprised that you know.”

“I was never privy to the details,” said Crowley, more pleased with himself than usual. “Using a halo as a cock ring doesn’t seem to warrant eternal exile, though.” He wrinkled his nose. “A bit harsh, don’t you think?”

Aziraphale  sighed and rubbed his forehead, his cheeks  still cycling through variations of red.  “I’m sure that’s not the whole story.”

“Then you know that Beelzebub bet Lucifer he couldn’t fit more than ten cherubin into his anus?” asked Sera, “Lucifer proved them wrong. That was his last act before the Fall.”

Crowley laughed.

“But…” said Aziraphale.

“I win, angel, ” said Crowley  ( as far as Crowley was concerned, Aziraphale was  still  the only being anywhere who could be called angel).

“What were the terms of the bet?” asked Sera.

Crowley walked behind Aziraphale and said softly in Aziraphale’s ear, “The winner gets to do whatever he wants with the loser’s body for 24 hours.”

Aziraphale  looked pained and smoothed his waistcoat.

“What does that mean?” asked Sera.

“Yes, Crowley,” said Aziraphale, “what does that mean?”

“I  want your body to come with m e to watch the sunrise tomorrow,” said Crowley.

“Oh,” said Aziraphale, relieved and also a tiny bit disappointed. “How… sweet.”

“Ye - es,” said Crowley. “Would you like to come with us, Sera?”

“Crowley? ” said Aziraphale.

Sera looked from Aziraphale  (who had  once  tried to explain subtext), to Crowley (who  had told him: When in doubt, just do it), and did what most humans do: he chose the simpler, more demonic path. “Yes,”  he  said, “I will join you.”

When it was still dark the next morning the three of them piled into the Bentley. “Where are we going, exactly?” asked Aziraphale.

“A little place near Dorset,” said Crowley. “I assure you, it’s quite picturesque. And, I won,” he added smugly, “so…”

“Yes, I remember.”

“… we get to go anywhere I want,” finished Crowley. After a couple hours of driving (during which no life was endangered, thanks to the early hour), he parked the car on the edge of a green valley. The sky was just beginning to lighten, the air was cool and fresh, and a single bird sang sweetly nearby.

“This is pleasant,” said Aziraphale, peering out the window. Everything seemed innocent enough. So far. Aziraphale couldn’t decide whether this was cause for more or less worry.

“It’s called Aunt Mary’s Bottom,” said Crowley, looking at his watch.

The colors of the sky as the light poured from the horizon were truly beautiful. Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand, too pleased to keep his guard up any longer. “This was a wonderful idea, dear,” he said watching the big, bright, shining peach rise majestically, “I’m  so glad…” but  just then  Aziraphale  ran out of coherent thoughts .

“That is not the sun,” said Sera from the back seat. He leaned forward to get a better look.

Crowley couldn’t stand it anymore. A demonic cackle erupted from the Bentley. A flock of birds startled out of a nearby tree and rose in the sky like a little black, many-winged cloud. There, rising in the east, was Aziraphale’s dazzling, star-sized, naked butt, big enough to light the entire solar system. Crowley opened the door to get away from Aziraphale’s verbal and physical attack, but he was laughing too hard to stand. He fell out of the car and lay in a heap, helplessly sobbing.

“I don’t understand,” said Sera, “why does the sun look like that?”

“Shut up, Sera,” growled Aziraphale, scrambling out of the car, the better to stare in disbelief. He had never seen his own rear end in such detail.  Under different circumstances, he might have admired how smooth and perfectly shaped it was – two soft,  pillowy half globes shining, cheerful and inviting.  “Crowley, how could you?”

Crowley could barely breathe, let alone speak.  He struggled to his feet.  “Relax, angel,” he managed finally, “humans can’t look directly at the sun, it’s too bright.” He thought a minute. “Heaven and Hell don’t bother gazing at the stars.  Certain scientific instruments might  capture some interesting images, though.” This brought on a new wave of uncontrolled laughter.

“Crowley,” said Aziraphale, the picture of indignation, “I demand you put the sun back, now!”

“I told you your ass was hot!” shrieked Crowley. Aziraphale scowled and climbed back into the car. Crowley followed him, still laughing, “This gives new meaning to the phrase ‘crack of dawn.’”

“I’m not familiar with these expressions,” said Sera. Aziraphale turned to glare at Sera, the expression on his face promising pain to anyone within smiting distance. 

Crowley suddenly stopped laughing and looked in awe at the sun-butt. He gripped Aziraphale’s shoulder and pointed. “But, soft!” he gasped, “What light through yonder window breaks?”

“Stop it, Crowley.”

“It is the east, and Aziraphale’s  arse is the sun.” Crowley dissolved once more into giggles, “Arise . .. fair Aziraphale’s … bottom… ” Crowley buried his face in his hands, unable to  continue.

“You know, Crowley,” said Aziraphale acidly, “I could just as easily put a part of your anatomy on display for the world to see.” 

“Ohhh, you’re an angel,” said Crowley,  wiping his eyes,  “I don’t think you have it in you.” Crowley’s grin was so knowing, it was almost obscene. 

“No,” said Aziraphale, “and I won’t have  ‘ it ’ in me for the foreseeable future if you don’t put. The. Sun. Back.” 

“Are the terms of your wagers always so… personal?” asked Sera.

Aziraphale  tsked.  “Crowley’s still upset that there’s a certain town in Sussex named after him.”

“It’s called Crawley and it’s not just any town,” said Crowley, his disposition suddenly less sunny. “For someone’s sake, its bloody motto is: ‘Crawley, Wasn’t The 14th Century Fun?” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “I’m the mayor by decree, and I get constant calls and invitations to 14th century themed events.”

“Oh,” said Aziraphale teasingly, “it’s a lovely  place.”

Crowley made a face. “Blessed 14th century. There’s a museum there dedicated to it,” he said. “Or, there was.”

“ Not bad for a stuffy old angel, eh?” said Aziraphale chuckling. “Y ou bet I couldn’t drive the Bentley around the block without hitting anything.”

“Yeah, no, what you did doesn’t fall under any definition of ‘driving’,” said Crowley.

“We could stop by your  town on the way home! They’d love a visit from the mayor!” said Aziraphale.

“Mmmm, I think I heard it suffered a terrible accident. Sink hole. Deepest one ever. Swallowed the whole town and then closed right back up again. Not one plague-themed gift shop left.”

“You sure about that?” asked Aziraphale.

Crowley  looked at Aziraphale.  “You know,”  he  said, “I think the moon is full tonight.”

**Author's Note:**

> I’m really sorry I destroyed the town of Crawley, but it’s not my fault that town is named that. Aunt Mary’s Bottom is also apparently an actual place. I’m pretty sure the British Isles have the best place names.


End file.
